


Three in the Chest, One in the Heart

by orphan_account



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: AU, Also Darkness, Artist! Jim, Bones not so much, Caring Bones, Humor, M/M, Mentions of Murder, Modern Era, Mysterious Spock, PLOT TWISTS WOOHOO, Reckless Jim, SHIT GETS WEIRD, Scotty ships Spirk, Sulu and Chekov are cops, Uhura is just done with everyones bullshit, Weird Plot Shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2015-01-13
Packaged: 2018-03-03 23:23:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2891948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Jim is an artist, Spock is mysterious and sexy, and Central Park is not the place to be after dark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Weird shit is about to ensue. This one's gonna be a doosey, kiddos.  
> Pretty please comment after reading if you want me to continue. I have really awesome plans for this but reassurance would be even more awesome. llap

All in all, it had been a pretty rough month.

Christmas was just around the corner and Jim had been getting commissions up the ass for about four weeks straight. He loved his job, he really did. But you can only do so many cat portraits without loosing your mind.

The day before Christmas Eve, he decided to make his roommate stay home and get into the Christmas spirit. Everyone needs a day off, even his grumpy southern doctor. Who was now wrapped up in about four blankets muttering something about 'godforsaken New York' and it's 'cold as balls weather.'

Jim, the ever productive roommate he was, decided to cook a chicken for the two of them. Which sounded easier than it was.

"Figure it out your damn self," Bones grumbled from his perch on the couch.

"I'm just an artist, Bones! I can only do so much. I'm fairly certain this chicken isn't even cooked."

"It's been in the oven for like three hours!"

"Well obviously the oven is broke."

" _You're_ broke, Jim," McCoy grumbled as he unfolded himself and started to walk to the oven.

"I'm telling you, Bonesy. There is something very wrong here." Bones sighed, gave Jim a long, disapproving look and opened the oven door.

"Jim."

"Yes?"

"You didn't even turn the goddamn oven on. You turned the stove top on."

Jim groaned and sunk to the floor. "I swear I did Bones. I thought I did everything right..."

"This chicken is so undercooked I think if I gave it CPR it would literally get up and slap you in the face."

Jim ran his hand through his hair. "I give up. I give up. I'll never be Paula Deen. I accept that. But it's not actually that bad, is it?"

"It still has feathers."

"It totally does not!"

"Hey, Jim," McCoy chuckled, "Why did the chicken cross the road?"

Jim paused, and looked up at his roommate miserably. "Why?"

_"Because you didn't fucking cook it!"_

McCoy slammed the oven door and went back to his perch on the couch. "Why don't you just go pick something up and bring it back?"

Long story short, that's how Jim ended up in Central Park handing a bucketful of fried chicken to a homeless woman on a park bench. "Bless you, sir. Bless you," she muttered, tears in her eyes. In the scheme of their lives, chicken wasn't that big of a deal to him or McCoy, and to this woman it seemed to make her year. Also, it would piss Bones off. That was fun too.

Sighing, he walked a little ways and stopped at another bench just to rest for a minute. Central Park was obviously not a very safe place, especially lately. Jim had been carrying a pocketknife on him. Not that he'd ever have the balls to use it, but he felt he needed the protection. There had been about five murders here just this month.

...And probably six if he didn't text McCoy about the chicken. He pulled out his phone and simply typed:

**man up or go hungry tonight. Love ya, Bonesy. ((((:**

He had just finished typing it when he was startled by a voice coming from right beside him.

"It was very kind of you to present that woman with sustenance."

Jim's first thought was to run. Anyone talking like that next to him on a small park bench in Central Park had to be some sort of creep.

And he totally would have ran. If he hadn't looked to where the sound had come from.

The man next to him was gorgeous. His skin was spotless and stark white, it almost glowed under the Christmas lights. He adjusted himself so that he could sit right next to Jim. His movements were elegant, fluid, and purposeful.

So, to put it bluntly, totally hot. Instead of running like a sane person, Jim decided he could hang around a few more minutes. Even if he was sitting next to a murderer. He was a sexy murderer, so it would have to do.

"What?"

"I said that it was kind of you to present that woman with sustenance. I am around here often and I've never seen anyone speak to her."

 _Be cool. Be cool. You got this, Jimbo._ "Yeah, well, that's what I do. I'm just a jolly guy."

Jim wanted to shoot himself. A jolly guy? _What the actual fuck is wrong with you Kirk holy shit._

"It was indeed in the Christmas spirit," the man agreed, a hint of a smile on his face. "This Christmas hasn't been the most cheerful. It is good to see some kindness in the midst of all the madness."

"Yeah, Christmas shoppers are crazy," Jim agreed. The man paused, like that wasn't the answer he was expecting.

"Yes, Christmas shopping is hectic. However, I am not giving or receiving any gifts this year."

Jim paused. "Oh yeah? Why's that?"

"It is simpler," the man stated, his eyes drifting to the glimmering lights.

Jim rubbed his hands together studied the man beside him. "You know," he said, changing the subject, "You really should be wearing a coat."

"I am warm natured. Also-"

He was interrupted by a short note chime from Jim's phone.

F **rom: Bones**

**hope youre enjoying life right now bc your ass is grass when you get home**

"I am sorry if I am interrupting your texting. I just wanted to-"

"Oh no! You're fine." _Really fine._

"I mean, it's just my roommate. He's got his panties in a bunch."

The mans head titled at Jim's phrase. "If you need to be elsewhere-"

"No! Well, kind of. I mean, he's grumpy and southern, he can wait."

The mans eyes darkened. "I recommend you spend time with your loved ones while you still can."

"That's ominous as hell," Jim nervously chuckled.

"I didn't mean it in that way. I just simply believe that it is important to surround yourself in warmth and love while it is still possible. I did not mean to startle you."

"Yeah, no, sorry. I guess I'm just jumpy. Crazies hang around here and honestly I don't feel very safe. I have no idea why I came this way."

"Perhaps you were simply drawn to it."

"Yeah, I guess. It's pretty festive this time of year."

"I concur," the man hummed.

The words were spilling out of Jim's mouth before he could stop them. "Anyways I need to go before my roommate starts rampaging. Can I uh...can I maybe get your number? I've just...It's been nice talking to you."

The man paused, and eyed Jim warily.

"I promise I'm not a murderer. If that helps."

"I believe I know quite well what you are," the man stated, then took Jim's phone and started typing on it.

"Oh yeah? What am I, then?" The man shook his head and handed Jim his phone back.

"I suppose you'll have to find out later," he said teasingly. Jim rose his eyebrows. "My name is Spock by the way."

"Oh, yeah. I'm Jim. Jim Kirk."

* * *

 

  By the time Jim got home, Bones was pretty much a big ball of fleece and anger.

"What the hell do you even do, Jim? I mean goddammit man I _save lives_ everyday and you just buzz around here like a housewife on speed, leave for a casual stroll through murder-ville, and come back looking like everything is dandy."

Jim dropped his coat on the floor, plopped beside his best friend and ruffled his hair. "I'll have you know, Doctor, I committed a random act of kindness and met a very sexy stranger."

"Goddamn man you don't need to be hangin' around Central Park just for funsies it's not safe," McCoy snapped, "Not long ago I tried to treat a guy who got stabbed there. Three in the chest. He was in the morgue within an hour."

"Okay there's no reason to get all morbid-"

"I'm just sayin' be careful, Jimbo. Who was this guy anyway?" Jim paused, then checked his phone. "Spock. And he was beautiful and angelic and I was enchanted by his very being. Any more questions?"

McCoy cocked his head, "What was his first name?"

"Didn't give one."

McCoy let out a shaky breath. "This ain't funny, kid."

"That's why I'm not laughing. What's up with you Bones? Feeling territorial or something?"

"I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't rub things like this in my face."

"What are you talking about? Look, I just met a guy and he was weird but we kind of clicked. If it bothers you that much-"

"Hell yeah it bothers me! I can't believe you could ever throw something like that in my face."

"Bones, I'm not throwing anything in your goddamn face," Jim argued.

"My God, you really don't have any idea, do you? I have a hard time believing that." Bones stood and made his way to his room, not long after, he emerged with a newspaper in hand.

"What the hell is this?" Jim muttered, taking it from McCoy's outstretched hand.

"Obits, page 4."

"Look Bones I don't want any precautionary tales, okay?"

"This ain't a precautionary tale," McCoy hissed. "Did you really see that man in Central Park or are you just yankin' my chain? Because it's not funny, Jim. I know the names of everyone who has died under my care and you and I know damn well I keep record."

"Yeah, I know you keep record. I know you're sensitive about loosing patients. But I don't understand what this is about. What the hell, Bones?" Jim asked, turning to page four and scanning it's contents.

Breathless, he whispered, "Oh my God."

"His full name is S'chn T'gai Spock," McCoy started.

When Jim's eyes focused on the largest picture in the obituary column, his breath stopped halfway up his throat.

"And he's been dead for almost five days."


	2. Chapter 2

In retrospect, Jim could've reacted better.

Throwing the newspaper at Bones and yelling "fuck off, southern peach" probably wasn't the most sensible thing to do, but then again there really wasn't anything sensible about any of this.

The likelihood that Jim was talking to a ghost that day in the park was slim. The man- Spock- was there, real as day. They had a conversation, Jim even had proof of it on his cell phone.

In an effort to calm his nerves, Jim had been sketching. Abstract figures in charcoal, pale lanky demons casting shadows over alley walls, and a dark haired, dark eyed man always hiding somewhere aside from the main focus. It was creepy, really. Jim never actually tried to draw him. It always just sort of... happened. He'd look up and there was Spock, lurking on the outskirts of the page.

McCoy didn't believe him, not for a second. McCoy, even on his best days, could easily hold the title for bitchiest man on the planet. Although he didn't even seem angry anymore, just unsettlingly short and cordial.

Jim had struck a nerve, that was for sure.

He could always call Spock. In fact, maybe if he asked Spock to come over or meet him somewhere with Bones, he could convince Bones that he was real. In all honesty, Jim was starting to doubt whether he was real himself.

After Jim had washed the charcoal off his hands he decided it was time to take action. And 'taking action' meant sprawling on the couch and pulling out his phone. He stared at the screen for a minute before finally hitting the call button.

Within two rings Spock answered with a cordial, "Hello."

Jim rubbed the back of his neck. "Uhh, hey. It's Jim. From the park." He felt like he should say more, but wasn't sure if he could get the words out without sounding spooked beyond repair.

"Greetings, Jim! I was beginning to think you had lost all interest in having conversation with me."

Even on the phone this guy was prim and proper. Jim made an extra effort to sound confident, for the sake of his own dignity. "No, it's not that. I've just been having a hard time at home."

"Is that so? What ails you?"

"It's my roommate. He's been grumpy lately but he's actually a really nice guy," Jim paused, reconsidering. "Maybe you want to come over to our place? He could cook chicken fried steak or something southern like that."

"I am a vegetarian."

 _Well hell_. "Okay, then we could make tofu? Or just vegetables and potatoes or something?"

"I was actually hoping we could meet up at Central Park again," Spock's voice had a slightly darker tone to it.

 _Well hell times two._ "How's about we-" Jim was cut off by the sound of his front door unlocking.

"Who are you on the phone with?" McCoy whispered. It was probably the most he'd said to Jim since the whole Spock obituary thing.

"Hang on," Jim put the phone to his chest. "I'm talking to that guy Spock I told you about."

The room went dead silent. The two stayed like that for a while, just staring, both trying to figure out what to say next. McCoy decided to break the silence. "You're crazier than a damn road lizard, kid."

"I'm gonna be honest..."

"Please do."

"I have no idea what that means, Bones."

"It means you need to shut the fuck up real quick."

"You wanna talk to him?" Jim offered.

"Go to hell." And with that McCoy shrugged out of his coat and headed to his room. Jim held the phone back to his ear and muttered a hello.

"If that was your roommate, he does not seem as kind as you have painted him to be," Spock decided.

"Yeah, well. Nobody's perfect. Also you have really good hearing, you know that?"

Spock hummed. "...Jim?"

"Yeah?"

"What exactly is a 'road lizard'?"

Jim giggled. "No idea."

* * *

Before Jim left the apartment, he left a note on the fridge just in case Bones came back early.

_Gone to the Enterprise with Spock. I left some overcooked pasta in the fridge if you want some. I'd advise you to stay clear of it though. ~J_

The two decided to meet up at a local cafe. Neutral ground. Spock wasn't ready to take a trip to Jim's apartment and Jim didn't want to get shanked in Central Park, so they found a happy medium.

The cafe was called Enterprise Coffee and it was essentially the best coffee joint in town. It was run by this Scottish guy called Scotty and staffed by some of his closest friends, so Jim felt right at home.

When Spock and Jim arrived, the Enterprise crew were buzzing around as lively as usual. The barista, Uhura, always managed to be the most beautiful woman in the room with eyeliner wings sharp enough to kill a man. Her and Spock were definitely in competition for hottest creature alive.

"Hey there sweetcheeks," Jim cooed.

"I'd punch you if I wasn't working, Kirk," she deadpanned, flipping her long ponytail back.

"I get the feeling you're not in the mood. Alright, I can take a hint. I want the usual, please."

Uhura rolled her eyes and began working on Jim's drink. "What about tall, pale, and handsome over there? Are you getting anything?"

Spock nodded. "I'd like a small coffee, please. Two sugars."

Not long after Uhura had finished their drinks and they were sitting, Scotty came gallivanting out of the back. "Oi! Art man! It's been a while since I've seen ye. Still handsome, but I recommend a new haircut. It's a wee bit too long and ye sort of look like a brain damaged yak."

Jim opened his mouth to protest, but Scotty cut him off. "And who is this one here? New boyfriend, Jimbo?" Spock's cheeks flushed and he dropped his head to his coffee.

"No, he's just a friend," Jim said cautiously, giving Scotty the subtlest 'go to hell' look he could manage.

"Oi! _You're bum's out the window, Kirk!"_

Jim choked on his coffee, which went flying across to Spock. Spock gracefully started to clean the mess around them.

"Excuse me?" Jim managed.

"It's Scottish talk for 'you're crazy as all hell', basically," Scotty looked from Spock to Jim a few times. "Aye, you'd be a good couple. He's grim and mysterious and you... well you're the brain damaged yak. Still cute though."

Jim was still trying to recover from being choked by hot coffee. "Thanks for the input, Malcolm Tucker," he said in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Scotty cocked his head. "I donnae understand that refrence."

"Nor do I," Spock stated.

Jim sighed. "Just... Don't worry about it."

Scotty nodded and moved along, presumably to bug the shit out of some more customers. It was a wonder the Enterprise had any costumers at all with him bee-bopping around all the time.

"So," Spock started, "I suppose he was your friend?"

"Yeah, well, kind of. He's had me do like four portraits of his car. He's a strange, strange man."

"I agree wholeheartedly," Spock chuckled.

"Sorry about the, uhh, you know," Jim mimed the coffee choking incident.

"It is fine. I too would have a similar reaction upon being told-"

"Ahem." Spock was interrupted by a familiar southern voice coming from behind Jim.

Jim slowly, cautiously turned his head. "Bones?"

He was leaning with his hands on the back of Jim's chair, still in his clothes from the ER. He just stared at Spock, his face unreadable. Spock, on the other hand, had turned white. He'd lost what little color he had in his cheeks and he stared blankly at the doctor. The mood of the room went from happy and lively to grim and tense in less than a few seconds.McCoy must've gotten off work early and seen his note.

Bones stood emotionless. "You recognize me, kid?"

Spock visibly reassessed the situation and shook his head, gaining back his usual confident and graceful demeanor.

"Well I recognize you," McCoy's face was still unreadable, but there was pain behind his eyes.

"I do not know why. Jim, who is this man?"

" _This man_ is Dr. Leonard McCoy. Jim's roommate, and is perfectly capable of introducing himself." Bones gathered himself enough to manage a smile.

"Ah. I see. I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, Doctor."

Jim ran his hand through his hair nervously. "Why don't you pull up a chair, Bonesy?" Bones smiled and pulled a third chair to their table. Clearly something was off. McCoy never smiled more than like twice a day. He was acting.

"So, Jim here tells me you met in Central Park. Hell of a place for a first date, that's for sure."

"It was not a date, Doctor. We merely met by coincidence."

McCoy nodded. "Coincidence, right." His voice had taken a darker tone beneath his smile. "So what's a guy like you doing hanging around Central Park? Lot a shit goes down around there."

Spock paused for just a second too long. "I was looking for an old friend."

McCoy's head tilted. "Oh, and you just ran into Jimbo here by mistake? Surprised he didn't freak out. He's paranoid nowadays. Carries a pocketknife-"

" _Bones_ ," Jim hissed.

McCoy ignored him and continued. "It's nothing to be ashamed of kiddo. Anyways, what I was saying was that I'm surprised you found him... approachable. Kid looks like a deer in headlights in a crowd, always has. He's just anxious, I guess. That'd be my diagnoses, anyway." Jim clenched his jaw and looked at the ground.

Spock stared at McCoy for a moment before simply saying, "I find him to be pleasant and approachable." Jim blushed. It wasn't much of a compliment but under the circumstances he'd take what he could get.

"Huh. Whatever you say. So," McCoy said, sipping out of Jim's coffee, "Who's that friend of yours you were trying to meet up with?"

"Not necessarily a friend. An acquaintance. He is in debt to me," Spock stated, staring at Bones.

"What kind of debt?"

"Bones, shut the hell up."

"I am under the impression that you are not at all related to this event, therefore it would be illogical to indulge you any further."

McCoy chuckled. "So you're saying it's none of my business?"

"Yes."

"Well," McCoy sighed, drinking one last sip of Jim's coffee and rising to leave. "It was nice to meet you." He held out his hand for Spock to shake. It just paused there for a moment. Spock clearly wasn't in any hurry to touch Bones.

"Pleasure to meet you as well, Doctor." Spock stated.

Bones grinned and pulled Spock's hand up for an abrasive and weird handshake. It was more of a wrist shake, actually. It was ungraceful and foreign, and Jim really had lost all clue about what was going on.

Spock's eyes flared with recognition and anger as he pulled his hand back. "Jim, please call me later," he said, still looking at McCoy. "And goodbye, Doctor."

"See ya, dollface." Once Spock was out of earshot he muttered, "He just stormed out, that was gonna be my move."

Jim looked up at him scornfully. "You're a son of a bitch, you know that? I finally meet someone I like and you have to go and shit on everything."

"I didn't shit on anything!"

"Telling him that I have anxiety and giving him the third degree about stupid details is basically shitting on the moment. Sorry, Bones, but it's true."

"Jim, you're acting like you forgot about the obituary."

"I can't explain that, Bones. I don't have all the answers, but obviously he is alive and not that other Spock."

"Oh really?" McCoy purred. "Because I just took his pulse."

Suddenly the strange handshake made sense. "Bones! What the hell? You can't just go around taking everybody's pulse and disguising it as a handshake bro that's weird."

"Well, I guess _technically_ I didn't take his pulse." Jim stayed silent, waiting for Bones to continue. "Jim, I didn't take his pulse because _he didn't have one_. He wasn't even breathing, man. Did you ever see his chest rise and fall, ever? Even once?"

"I'm not in the mood for your witch doctor mumbo jumbo," Jim grumbled.

"Maybe not, but I'm warning you kid. I don't know what any of this is about but stay away from him. That Spock guy I treated was a thug. A prostitute, I think. And either someone is a real creep and impersonating him or there's some undead bullshit going on here. At first I thought you were just trying to make fun of it, but you wouldn't do that, would you? I'm not going to apologize for icing you out these past few days but I _am_ going to protect you from whatever it is that guy has to offer."

Jim's stomach did a bit of acrobatics before he could speak again. "Bones, I appreciate you trying to be protective, but this is all making me kind of sick."

"Then you came to the right place, kiddo." Bones said, gesturing to his outfit. "Wanna know my recommendation?"

Jim hesitated. "Yeah... I guess."

"I say we pay a visit to the morgue."

"Hell no."

"Sorry, doctor's orders." That night, Jim and Bones devised a plan. Well, Bones devised a plan, Jim just sort of sat and nodded numbly at everything. Bones thought it best to visit the morgue, then patient files, then Central Park.

They were going to investigate the man called S'chn T'gai Spock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gave me hell. But I love protective Bones so much it was worth it.  
> Also "your bum's out the window" is a legitimate Scottish saying it's actually hilarious and I had a very similar reaction to Jim's when I heard it.  
> Anyways I have a solid plan for the next two chapters so if you want me to continue or have any advice pretty please let me know!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for this, but it had to be revealed eventually. Everything will come together in the next chapter. Don't hate the player, hate the game.  
> Please review!! It genuinely makes my day.

By the end of all this, Jim would either need a therapist or a large glass of whiskey.

Or both. Both would be good.

Bones was able to get the two of them into the morgue easily enough. They relieved the normal pathologist of his shift and the two of them went to work with some bullshit excuse about finding trauma indicators or something. So that's how Jim and Bones ended up in long white lab coats and goggles, shuffling through closed shelves with name tags on each one. Frankly, it was spooky as hell. The air was sterile and everything was either stark white or reflecting silver. The place smelled like death and bleach.

"Wait, Bones. If he died five days ago why is his body still here? Shouldn't they have buried him by now?"

Bones sighed and started reading labels. "Well, no one's claimed him. Couldn't find any family, and the one we found ran off not long after identifying him. We'll have to dump him on the city and let them deal with the body. We can keep him for a month at longest. It'll probably just be some half-assed cremation."

Jim paused. "That's... really sad, actually."

Bones shrugged. "Not everything's fair, kid. Besides, way I look at it, he's done with that body. Might as well burn it."

"Do you wanna be cremated when you die, Bones?"

"I don't give a damn," Bones grunted. "Throw me in a ditch for all I care."

"Charming notion, Bonesy."

"Here we go," McCoy announced, "S'chn T'gai Spock, or however the hell it's pronounced."

Jim's heart sunk. "Bones, maybe we should just-"

_"Jim,"_ Bones said, "don't freak out, okay? You've seen a dead body before, right?"

"Well, y-yeah," Jim stuttered.

"It's just a slab of meat. Don't freak out on me, okay?"

"Okay."

Bones stared for a moment longer, wide brown eyes studying Jim's face. Finally, he turned back to the shelf and started to pull it open.

He paused halfway through. "Heh."

"What?"

"We're one of the only hospitals in the state that locks individual drawers. Only some of them lock, usually we put the bodies we work on most in them. This one... it was supposed to be locked."

Jim stopped, staring at McCoy.

"Dr. Brand must have forgotten to lock it. Damn boy you're paler than any one of these corpses. Just breathe." Bones finished pulling the drawer out, and stood dumbfounded at the empty table.

"Bones."

"Yeah, kid," McCoy swallowed. "I know."

Jim opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again.

"Alright," McCoy sighed, "I'm gettin' real damn tired of this ghostly bullshit going on."

"Yeah, me too," Jim squirmed. "I mean, where the hell could it have gone? I'm no doctor, but corpses don't just up and leave when they want. Do you actually thing he's..."

"I don't believe in that, Jimbo. Never have. I was raised in the south. We're born, we live, we die, we depart. That's what I was taught. And I don't like this one bit."

"Well," Jim said, "I'm not sure I really want to think about it too much."

Bones gave a humorless chuckle. "Sure thing, kid."

"What?" Jim asked defensively.

"You're pro at blocking things out, kid. Chances are, if you don't want to, you won't even remember we did this by tomorrow."

"Shut up, Bones."

"It's a defense mechanism. It's the way you're wired. Don't worry about it. Sorry I brought it up."

"So," Jim said, "I'm not letting this one go. Should we move on to the patient files?"

Bones grinned. "Atta boy."

* * *

On the way back to the apartment, Bones picked up Spock's patient files. Jim wasn't entirely sure it was legal to just take that kind of thing home as you please, but at this point Bones was completely fired up and wouldn't rest until he got some answers.

"Alright, kiddo," Bones pulled out Spock's autopsy report and handed it to Jim who was sitting cross legged across from him. "Take a look at this, read off anything you find interesting, and I'll do the same with the rest of the papers."

Jim nodded and took the pages from his best friend. Autopsy reports were really grim. There was a printout of a naked man with pen markings covering the chest and whatever else was hurt at the time of death. Little medical facts lines the sides, and on the other sheet there was a brief explanation about what the pathologist thought happened.

"Autopsy performed by Doctor Tyra Brand assisted by Nurse Christine Chapel," Jim read aloud. "Time of autopsy 11:25 a.m., one week after death. Body of a young man, late twenties to early thirties. Anemic, but otherwise healthy. Slightly underweight. Wounds include three knife wounds, one puncturing midway into the left lung, one grazing the side of the neck, and one in the left clavicle. Wounds suggest the man was attacked head on and at a close distance."

"No dip, Sherlock," Bones muttered.

"Okay then, what do you have?"

"Uhhh," McCoy shuffled through his papers, "nothing of much value. I have past school records, kid was a straight A student. Medical records almost non existent, one emergency ER visit when he was 12. Can't find record of where he lived, which is odd. Has been arrested twice, once for possession and once for dealing."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"He's a druggie."

"Bones, for gods sake." Jim paused. "So I'm supposed to believe that Mr. Prim and Proper from the park is some kind of stoner?"

"Well, chances are it's not the same guy."

"Then why the hell are you making me do this?" Jim gestured at the papers scattering the floor.

"Because I'm not entirely convinced. Call him, ask him to come over."

"Sir yes sir," Jim gave an overly dramatic salute and pulled out his phone. "Weren't we supposed to go to Central Park and investigate?"

"Yeah but frankly it's cold as shit and I don't want to leave home. Plus if this guy is dead the cold won't bother him, so it's a win-win."

"Ha ha," Jim deadpanned. "Also when did you become in charge of this whole investigation thing?"

"Since you started actually listening to me," Bones chuckled.

* * *

The phone call was short, and Spock seemed happy (if not slightly hesitant) to come to the apartment. Jim texted him the address while Bones started to gather up his paperwork and hide it.

Jim had taken a perch on the couch, curled up in a blanket and watching TV when they heard a loud knocking from the door.

"Did you buzz anybody in?" Jim called to Bones.

"Nah, ghosts don't need doors. Just invite him in, I'll be out in a minute," Bones called from his room.

It had been all of 2 minutes since he made the call. There's just no way in hell Spock made it here that fast.

Jim unfolded himself from the blanket and made his way to the door. He didn't really bother to look through the peephole.

"Jim Kirk?"

In the doorway were two men in cop uniforms. One smaller blonde, one older looking Asian man. Both looked like they weren't very happy to be there.

"What's going on here?" Jim started to get light headed.

"NYPD. I'm sure you know what we're here for. If you could make this easy on us, we'd sure appreciate it," the taller one said.

"What the hell is this?" Bones exited his room and half ran to the door.

"The police," Jim said cautiously, leaning against a wall for support. The cops reminded him of something. Red and blue flashing lights and trying to run through the cold with burning lungs.

"Is there a problem, officers?" Bones physically put himself in between Jim and the two men.

"Your roommate here's in a hell of a lot of trouble."

The smaller cop kept quiet and looked nervously at the two men standing across from him.

Bones crossed his arms. "Is that so?"

Jim peered over Bones' shoulder. "What did I do?" He managed.

"I'm sure you remember, kid."

And just like that, Jim _did_ remember. His mind collapsed in on itself and suddenly everything made since.  Images started to come together, images splattered in blood and tainted in black. The small knife in his pocket started to burn.

"Don't play dumb, let's make this easy, alright?" The smaller of the two officers started to take out his handcuffs and let the other officer speak for him. "We're not looking to muscle you around, and chances are you'll get off easy, so let's be smart about this." 

Jim just looked at them.

"You're under arrest for the murder of S'chn T'gai Spock."

Jim listened numbly as he was handcuffed and told his rights.

 


End file.
